


More Saving, More Doing

by hiddencait



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton in a tool belt should be its own excuse, Clint Barton never joined SHIELD, Deaf Clint Barton, Disabled veteran Clint Barton, Home Depot worker Clint Barton, Lola - Freeform, M/M, Mention of actually attending therapy for PTSD, Phil Coulson is a badass but bad at feelings, Pizza Dog is my favorite Dog, Service Dog Lucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/pseuds/hiddencait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never fails - someone always needs something right before Christmas. At least, this will give Clint something to do while he's spending the holidays alone except for his service pup. </p><p>Phil just wants a fish tank. And possibly someone to spend the holidays with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Saving, More Doing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uofmdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uofmdragon/gifts).



> So, uofmdragon originally prompted "Retail work around the holidays is a pain in the ass: longer hours, crazier customers, and the seasonal employees at work that somehow seem to make life more difficult instead of easier for the year. All Clint wanted was something nice and easy to relieve his work stress, he wasn’t planning on actually getting involved with someone during the holidays." There was also mention of liking realistic deaf Clint Barton, Lucky, AUs, a bit of angst, and mention of the AoS crew.
> 
> This is set somewhere vaguely in season 2 of AoS - definitely Jossed, but this is an AU anyway right? 
> 
> I'm still not totally sure how this fic resulted from that prompt beyond the fact that Jeremy Renner belongs in a tool belt, and Home Depot was the best place I could think of to arrange that. Plus, they allow dogs, so I figured that was a perfect place to have Service Dog Lucky make an appearance. Unfortunately no matter what I tried, these two idiots would not get to the kissing parts, so this is entirely pre-ship but still 5k. *headdesk* Anyway, here's hoping all of this came together in a way that works for you Uofmdragon!
> 
> Also, my normal betas are going through some crazy holiday family stuff of their own, so this was not betaed by a person, but was run through Grammarly.com. Any remaining errors are definitely my fault - feel free to let me know if you find a typo anywhere! *ETA - Scratch that - big thanks to Isisanubis for the last minute beta!

A gentle nudge against his leg had Clint grimacing and choosing to ignore whoever it was until they went away. The table saw he’d been told to prepare for resale on the clearance aisle was not going to fix itself; he figured that took priority over whatever else somebody might want or think they needed “right this second.” And if anyone dared to say he was hiding from the early-December holiday hell out on the floor of the Home Depot he was currently working at, he’d call them a dirty liar. And then go back to hiding in his corner. Another nudge hit his elbow this time, almost causing him to drop the wrench he was working with, and that finally made him look up.

“What?” He snapped, turning to stare down at his assailant. A pair of soulful brown eyes looked back up at him, and he rolled his eyes at his service dog, Lucky. “All right already. What’s up, pizza dog?”

Lucky's ears perked up for a moment at his favorite word, but when no pizza appeared, he turned to direct his owner's attention to the well-dressed man standing up against the service office door.

“Shit, sorry. Got caught up and didn’t hear anyone come in.” Something about the guy was clearing away Clint’s irritation pretty damned quickly – whether it was the blue eyes or the well-cut suit, Clint didn’t know. Or care actually. If one of his coworkers had directed this guy over to Clint’s corner on purpose, he’d be tempted to kiss them. Or him. Whichever came first. The stranger blinked and looked down at the paper he was twisting in his hands, and Clint belated realized he might be staring. “So, what can I help you with?”

The man shuffled his feet in a way that was endearingly at odds with how put together he was, and held out the piece of paper. "I, uh, I was hoping to build this, but it's turning more time-consuming than I'd expected. And a lot more… difficult."

“Do-it-yourself projects have a tendency to do that.” Clint studied the sketch and dimensions, reaching up to rub his ear absently, only belatedly realizing that he’d forgotten to put his hearing aids back in again. No wonder he hadn’t heard the guy come in or Lucky alert him to the visitor’s presence. He glanced at his grease-covered hands and grimaced; too late to put his aids in now. Least so far the guy was enunciating well; made it easy to read his lips. And he hadn’t spoken without Clint facing him, either.

Clint lifted his head to speak to the man only to see his mouth move, clearly in mid-sentence. Clint had thought too soon. Typical timing on his part.

“Hey, sorry. Do you mind repeating that? I forgot my hearing aids again,” Clint interrupted the other man, sheepishly, attempting to cover his embarrassment with a quick scratch to Lucky’s ears. The customer blinked.

“I hadn’t realized. Is that what your service dog is for?” He was asking politely, and for that alone Clint would have been willing to bury the irritation that usually came along with the question. The fact that he seemed genuinely curious about Clint as opposed to Clint’s disability didn’t hurt either.

“Was a little too close to an IED when it went off when I was on tour in Iraq. Managed to walk away from it, just couldn’t hear anything after. Lucky’s partially for that, but also for my PTSD. I still get a little edgy when people come up behind me. This guy lets me know people are around if I don’t hear them.” He scratched Lucky’s ears again and then rubbed right under where his blue vest rested, knowing his pup occasionally itched there, too. “Umm, also, just so you know. I don’t always mind so much, but it’s actually illegal to ask what a service dog is for. Just for the future.”

“Shit, I didn't… No, wait, I think I did know that. Sorry, that was inconsiderate of me.” Once again, the guy looked genuine when he apologized, and damned if Clint didn't like that even more than the way the suit jacket was hugging the guy's shoulders.

“Like I said, I didn’t mind. Just wanted to let you know. I’m Clint by the way.” He held out his hand and cringed as he was reminded of the grease, but the other man didn’t even hesitate to shake it, filthy though it was.

“Phil. Nice to meet you. So do you think you can point me in the right direction with the fish tank?”

Clint looked down at the page again skeptically. “It’s supposed to be a fish tank?” The other man blushed, and Clint hurried to attempt to remove his foot from his mouth. “It’s just the shape isn’t what I’d expect for that. And honestly, it’s usually easier just to buy one. Any reason you aren’t?”

“The location it’s going in is… unusual. Available space is at a premium, and the spot we managed to clear for it is a little odd.”

“Uh huh.” Clint scratched his head and thought for a moment. “Well, to be honest I’ve never tried to build a fish tank, but I think we can get you headed in the right direction.”

“Actually, I was hoping to possibly… That is… Doug at the front indicated you take projects on as side jobs?” Phil looked almost apologetic to be asking, but he wasn’t the one Clint was annoyed with.

Doug could have mentioned that he did side gigs too, but oh no, he just sent this guy on to Clint. During the holidays, for a fish tank, of all ridiculous things. Not that he’d say it out loud. Phil was still hot and apparently genuinely decent, after all. And if Clint was honest, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do with his time. Not this close to the holidays. Not like Doug with his kids or Lenny and his parents. Maybe it was better that Doug had sent the suit his way. It’d free the others up for their family things. Sensing Clint’s turn in mood, Lucky nudged his hand and whined slightly, pulling Clint away from the spiral his thoughts were beginning to go in.

"I'll just say again; I've never tried to build a fish tank, so I can't guarantee it'll work. What kind of time frame are we looking at?"

Phil looked apologetic again, and Clint braced himself for what he was about to say. “Well, I was hoping to get it installed by Christmas?”

"Of course you are." Clint scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head as Phil opened his mouth to take it back. "Sorry, that was rude. This time of year just sucks sometimes. Here – let me just…" He scrounged around in his equally grease-covered, orange employee apron and came up with a pen and paper. He tore the sheet in half and jotted down his name and number on one piece, then slid the other over to Phil. "Give me your name, number, email, all that jazz. I'll do some research and work up prices for you." He raised an eyebrow at the other man. "Is any of what you've already done salvageable?" Phil blushed again. "So from scratch. Gotcha."

“I’m sorry about dropping this on you last minute during the holidays. I promise that’s not usually my SOP. Things have just been more hectic than usual this year.”

Clint filed away the mental note that Phil knew some military jargon, and double checked to make sure he understood the dimensions listed one more time. “This is a gift, right? For a kid or…” He trailed off. Apparently, it was his turn for awkward and invasive questions. Smooth, Clint.

Phil didn’t look offended though, so that was a plus. “A coworker actually. It’s been a difficult transition, and I thought, well, I hoped, this might cheer them up.” He shrugged. “It’s sort of a private joke. I think they’ll appreciate it, though.”

"Hey, it's the thought that counts, right?" Clint winced as Phil's face fell a little. "That didn't come out right. I just meant; I'm sure your coworker will appreciate that you remembered the joke and that you're going to all this trouble to try to make it happen."

Assuming it was just a coworker at all, Clint thought with an internal sigh. No way was Phil going to this much trouble for “just a coworker.” Not that it mattered what a customer’s relationship status was, right?

“Anyway, I’ll get working on this for you ASAP. We’ve got, what? 23 days or so? I think we can make it work.”

Phil nodded. "I appreciate it. Just let me know what you figure out on price – cost isn't an issue in this case."

Clint nodded, musing again that this must be some coworker. Oh well. Too bad for him. Phil shook his hand again as he left, and Clint determinedly kept himself from trying to check out the man’s ass as he left. He managed it, but only because the suit jacket blocked his view.

            …

A week later, Phil tried to tell himself that he was simply looking forward to seeing the progress on the fish tank as opposed to seeing the man who was making him the fish tank. The somewhat surly Home Depot employee had tugged at something in him. Phil wasn't sure if it had been due to the small smiles Clint had thrown down to his service dog, or the remarkable ability to put his foot in his mouth mid-conversation, or possibly the really incredible arms that had been even remotely hidden under his short sleeved T-shirt. Phil always had a thing for arms, especially when they were on a capable and otherwise attractive man. It was unfortunate that Phil had already managed to mildly irritate the man. Phil didn't blame him – last minute work around the holidays was never fun. That was something a SHIELD agent knew very, very well.

Still, this hadn’t been a project Phil was willing to wait to finish. Things had been tense enough between Fitz and Simmons since she’d returned from the undercover op. He’d hoped to have this small thing for the pair of them to laugh and bond over. It wasn’t much of an olive branch, perhaps, but who didn’t like fish tanks, right? It was just his luck the build had proven so very outside his skill set. Granted, it probably would have progressed faster if he hadn’t been distracted with missions and bouts of alien induced sleep-writing, but he was still disappointed with his progress.

He was lucky Clint had decided to take over for him. Phil worried the other man would back out, but it had been only a day before he received the neat and tidy email with price projections, a slightly edited set of blueprints, and a general timeline in his inbox. Clint was prompt and clearly thorough. That seemed promising. Now to just see if his work held up to that impression. 

Phil pulled Lola onto the street Clint had indicated and drove down to the little house at the address listed. It was a nice place, not large, but in good repair which Phil approved of. One of the doors was raised on one side of the two-car garage, and Phil heard the sound of a saw going inside. He parked Lola at the curb and got out, giving her a quick pat after a nervous glance around. The neighborhood didn't look too bad – she should be safe out here. And she'd be available for a quick getaway if he needed one.

He walked up the drive, glad for once he’d foregone the suit and tie. The jeans, t-shirt, and bomber jacket stood out much less in a small street like this one. He’d been reminded of that in the Home Depot – most of the workers had been a bit bemused to see him dressed that way in the lumber department. It was something to remember for the future – the suit had helped him blend in among SHIELD agents; it didn’t always away from there. In the midst of the mess that SHIELD had become, he’d stuck to the suit as his armor and uniform as Director. But he might consider loosening things up just a little from time to time. It might keep the others a little more comfortable around him. Or so he hoped.

He made his way up the slightly inclined driveway and heard a familiar bark over the sound of the saw. Phil reached the garage door just in time to see Clint turning off the saw and reaching to guzzle back a bottle of water. Phil's mouth was suddenly dry, and he barely resisted shaking his head at himself for the ill-timed interest in a civilian. This was definitely not something he had the energy or resources to pursue; he’d just need to nip that internal attraction in the bud.

That resolve lasted all of the two seconds before Clint noticed him at the entrance to the garage, a wide smile suddenly gracing his lips and if possible making him even more handsome. He was also wearing a tool belt low on his hips. Phil felt himself flushing. This wasn’t usually a problem for him, damn it!

“Hey, Phil. You’re right on time.” Clint reached down to give Lucky, out of his little blue vest today in the privacy of their own home, some scratches behind the ear and then moved over to offer his hand to Phil in an unconscious repeat of their first meeting. Phil didn’t hesitate to shake his hand this time either, noting once again the calluses on Clint’s hand that were just almost familiar. He’d known the man was military from his mention of Iraq, but Phil still hadn’t figured out yet what kind of weapon he’d been wielding. The calluses were in the wrong spot for pistol or rifle work. He buried his curiosity. It wasn’t his business, and anyway he’d decided he wasn’t going to be intrigued by this guy. Right? Right.

“So, you said you had some progress to show me?” Phil said, desperate to draw his focus back to business. It was only after he spoke that he realized he still held Clint’s hand and dropped it just a little too quickly. Clint didn’t seem to notice Phil’s discomfort or else was too polite to mention it out loud.

“Yeah, it’s coming along better than I thought it would to be honest.” He jerked his head inviting Phil in and led the way to another workbench at the back of the garage, this one with the Plexiglas and plastic shape of what was clearly the form Phil had sketched out months ago. Of course, this looked far more like what Phil had planned than anything Phil had managed thus far. Clint leaned in to study what he’d created and began pointing out features and what he felt to be flaws, seemingly at random as far as Phil could tell. The flaws certainly weren’t anything he could have picked out without a microscope. Idly, he realized Clint was still talking, but he hadn't heard much – too caught up in the way the man's hands and mouth were moving. "-but, otherwise, I think I should be able to finish it up in the next few days or so. Plenty of time to get it all installed before Christmas Eve. Think you’ll need me for that?”

“Need you for what?” Phil asked helplessly, once again having lost his train of thought. Clint blinked at him for a moment and then grinned, shaking his head. He straightened his shoulders, and Phil had the feeling he’d made some sort of decision Phil was unaware of the details of.

“I want a beer. You want a beer?” Thrown by the sudden change of conversation, Phil just nodded blankly, earning himself another one of Clint’s wide grins. “Two seconds.”

With that he stalked off to the door into the house, leaving Phil staring after him, sufficiently distracted by the fit of his worn and faded jeans to the point that he barely noticed his phone ringing insistently in his back pocket. It took Clint’s capable service dog all but knocking him over before Phil snapped back to himself enough to grab the phone and check the caller ID. It was unlisted which didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t one of his team calling to check in. He let out a deep sigh. While it would be disappointing if he had to cut this short, it would likely be far less embarrassing. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle watching Clint drink an ice cold beer – the sight of lips meeting bottle alone might kill him. That, and the fact that whoever was calling in had clearly hit redial as soon as his voicemail picked up, decided him, and he picked up to answer.

“Coulson.”

“We have a problem,” May said, the sound of squealing tires and gunfire making it clear this wasn’t a problem that could wait.

“Location?” Phil listened while she rattled off her position, already figuring out his route from where he was in his head. “On my way.”

She hung up without saying goodbye as usual, and Phil breathed a sigh of relief as Clint exited back out of his house just in time. He hadn’t wanted to leave without saying good-bye after all. And good – Clint hadn’t popped the top on the beers yet. No need to waste them, after all.

“Clint, there you are. I’m sorry to do this, but I’m going to need a rain check on those beers. An emergency came up in the office, and I’ve got to go in.” Phil was flattered to see Clint looked honestly disappointed to hear it. Maybe this attraction wasn’t quite so one-sided? He’d have to wait and see the next time they met up.

“Yeah, no prob. Maybe next time, then, huh? I’ll email you when the tank’s finished up.”

“Definitely next time. Thanks.” Phil smiled, but didn’t allow himself to shake Clint’s hand before he left, knowing he couldn’t afford the delay of distraction those calluses would cause again. He forced himself to nod and turn to stride quickly out of the garage and down to Lola. Phil did allow himself to wave, and to watch Clint and Lucky in the rearview mirror as he drove off. That sight would have to hold him for a while at least. “Next time,” he said to himself. “Definitely next time.”

            …

Clint was not sulking. He was brooding in a manly fashion. And anyway, no matter what someone might call it, it was only in the privacy of his own home, and there was only Lucky to see it, and he was loyal and wouldn't tell a soul if his person was sulking, no brooding, for entirely good reasons. He'd known offering the beer was probably too soon, but he could have sworn Phil had been actively checking him out, and it had just seemed like the right time. Plus, there'd been those jeans; while Clint had been fully on board with the well-cut suit and tie, seeing Phil all casual and rumbled had been a definite turn on. And then there was the car. Dear fluffy lord, _the car._ Clint had to admire a man who drove a car that looked like that, particularly in the kind of pristine condition that a man could only achieve if he was doing at least some of the care and maintenance himself.

So yeah, Clint hadn’t been able to help it. He’d offered the beer and was pretty sure he’d made it clear just what he was offering along with it. And apparently, he’d been perfectly clear. Only instead of sticking around for conversation and maybe dinner, the other man had lit out of there like the house was on fire.

OK yeah, Phil said something about an emergency at work, but that wouldn't have kept him from responding to Clint's emails about the project being finished up. Or at least, he wouldn't have thought so. Yeah, he heard the kind of cushy office jobs that demanded a wardrobe like Phil’s could be stressful during crunch time, but those types of positions also usually required the office monkey be all but chained to their desk and email.

No, it was unfortunate, but Clint figured he needed to face facts. Phil likely hadn’t been interested and had been freaked out by the gesture. Clint had thought he could probably back pedal and make it clear that it was just a friendly offer instead of a _friendly_ offer the next time Phil showed up, but that was going to be harder to do if Phil didn’t show up in the first place.

So there he was, a few days before Christmas, and even more broody about it than normal. Clint had dealt with his sour mood in his usual way, first running in the chill weather with Lucky until he actually managed to wear out even the boundless energy of his favorite four-legged service mutt, then retiring to the range he’d constructed out in the back yard after the first call from his busy body behind the house neighbor to the police about Clint trying to ambush her in her garden. It had been a pain in the ass at the time, but the deputy who’d shown up had actually been cool and still came over from time to time to hang out.

And damned if Clint could find anything to argue with being able to go out and shoot his bow in the light snow without worrying about damaging strings or the bow itself. He couldn’t get anything near to the distance or maneuverability he was capable of, but for working out a pisser of a mood with a long spate of slow, steady, firing, his range was perfect. He’d even set up a bed out there for Lucky so the pup could hang out with him there without getting too cold this time of year.

That also meant Lucky was near enough to alert and distract Clint when his demons got too close, and he shot long enough to start bleeding from his fingertips. Not that he’d gone that dark over Phil this time, or not precisely over Phil as opposed to a chance at finally trying to date that Phil had seemed to represent. Oh well, Lucky’d managed to stop him this time before more than one of his fingers was bleeding.

Clint had let the mutt heard him out of the range and back into the house where Clint had bandaged up his finger and retired with Lucky to the couch for the next stage in his manly broody schedule – delivery pizza, mindless TV, and chocolate milk. Beer didn’t have its normal allure considering it had started the current spiral, and chocolate milk had been his one go-to treat when he’d been in his first, and not too terrible, foster home. Eggnog had been another option, but chocolate won the day this time if only because it was slightly-less reminiscent of the shitty holiday season he was currently dealing with. Clint called in the order for a large meat lover’s pizza, and as his stomach decided to growl louder than Lucky could while he was still on the phone, he went ahead and added a large four cheese, as well. He hung up after giving them his credit card info and tried to figure out when he’d eaten last. Damn it – his appetite running off was _not_ a good sign.

Clint tried to figure out what specifically had set him off this time, aside from Phil's radio silence. His therapist had always advised him to think through his spirals to look for the actual trigger – the emotions behind his responses to events in his day to day life were the thing he needed to work on. He couldn't control what other people did, so he had to work on how he reacted to them, instead. Clint had grown to pretty deeply respect Dr. Harmon. The man was a former Marine gunny who'd gone back to school for his degree in psychology after finally retiring. It helped talking to him instead of the shrink Clint had been to previously – that asshole had never even been out of the state, let alone into a war zone in another country. Forming any kind of connection with that guy had been nigh on impossible. Dr. Harmon was a different breed of therapist entirely, and he knew first-hand what kind of mess a soldier’s mind could be after the shit they saw on a regular basis.

With that in mind, Clint forced himself into the deep breathing exercises the doc recommended, knowing he had plenty of time before the pizza arrived. The delivery guy would make a nice un-official timer for him. Clint breathed in and out and drew his mind to the problem of Phil Coulson. Only, maybe Phil wasn’t so much the problem, exactly, he realized. Was Clint more pissed that he hadn’t heard from the guy, or that someone in general had ignored all contact from him? He frowned at himself, knowing that was likely the real issue, especially during the time when every single solitary media source was selling the whole family-and-friends-gathering-together thing as hard as they possible could.

Clint hadn’t had anyone to come home to when he was finally sent back for his injuries halfway through his last, debilitating tour. No family aside from Barney, who was god knew where, and even not much in the way of friends. Most of his buddies were military, and most of them were still overseas. He’d had more than one round of abandonment issues crop up due to a delay in contact with the guys. And Clint had known, with absolute certainty, that his buddies had damned good reasons for being out of touch over there. It had been irrational of him to get hurt when they didn’t answer an email but once or twice a month. He’d known that, but he’d still gone into this same kind of spiral every time.

Clint sighed and nodded to himself. Yup, that was the issue. Not that Phil hadn’t been pretty shady with this whole incommunicado thing. It _was_ unprofessional and honestly pretty damned rude. But it was Clint's own abandonment trigger that had him going off the rails. Fair enough, Clint decided. He was allowed to be disappointed at the other man's behavior, but he'd need to get his head on straight before he decided it was the end of the world. He nodded again and moved to make a note in his phone to set up an appointment with Dr. Harmon for later in the week.

As he finished it up, Lucky alerted to the door, tail up and wagging furiously in his typical “OMG pizza!” reaction, and Clint felt himself smile for the first time that day.

“All right pizza dog, I’ll get it. Sit down, you lunatic.” The pup tried desperately to follow his command, but Clint laughed and shook his head as Lucky started to sit and bounced up again, and then remembered to sit, and then bounced up again, utterly boundless energy driving him nuts. Clint shoved Lucky gently away from the door and opened it to take the pizzas from Tim, the guy who almost always took their route. Tim was well prepared for a possible pizza dog incident, insulated bag up above his head as he leaned against the wall of the porch for balance.

“Hey man, two larges coming right up!” With an eye for the pizza-loving pup, he carefully handed off the receipt for Clint to sign, and then took it back, grinning widely as always at the tip Clint left. With another quick glance to make sure Lucky was just barely out of reach, Tim whipped the pair of pizza boxes out of the bag and made a quick hand off. "See ya man – don't let that one eat it all! He needs to leave enough for you!"

Clint chuckled as he closed the door, shitty mood thoroughly chased away by the antics of the two sides of the pizza delivery coin, Tim and Lucky. The good mood lasted through the living room and into the kitchen, where he dished out three slices each for him and the mutt, two each of the meat lovers and one each of the cheese.

He set Lucky’s plate on the floor and then stood out of range of the flailing dog as Lucky lunged for his slices, sliding himself and the plate halfway across the room in a single slide of tile. Clint shook his head and headed back to the sofa and his chocolate milk. He’d barely sat down when Lucky came running, his tail up and head cocked as he alerted Clint to the door. Clint frowned and headed over, wondering if Tim had left something on the front porch again.

 Clint opened the door and stopped still. It wasn't Tim. Instead, there stood Phil Coulson, this time in a rumpled pair of slacks and a battered hooded sweatshirt. He looked exhausted but was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Clint's mouth opened and closed helplessly as he struggled for something to say to the sight of the other man just standing there after the past two weeks without any contact at all. 

Phil’s smile faltered a little, and he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. "I should have called before I came, I just-" he shrugged, "dropped my phone recently?" It came out as a question, and Clint wondered why the other man had intended to say before censoring himself.

“No email?” Clint couldn’t help but ask; the wince Phil made telling him he’d let maybe a little too much of his hurt at the radio silence seep out into his tone. That was one of the more annoying downsides of his hearing loss – he’d always known how to keep his voice steady before. Lucky could cover for a multitude of sins, but even the best dog couldn’t speak for a guy.

“Our… company got hacked. It-” Phil hesitated again, choosing his words carefully, “It wasn’t pretty. We lost a lot of personal data that wasn’t backed up the way it should have been. That email was one of the casualties unfortunately.” He shrugged again, and this time Clint noticed the six pack of what looked to be a very nice dark beer in his other hand. “I guess I was a little leery of technological devices after the week I’ve had.” His smile was rueful and seemed to invite Clint in on the joke. The smile faded then, and a painfully hesitant look took its place. “But I wanted to see you. I was hoping that, maybe, if, I mean if you don’t have anything else going on, and if you still wanted to, we could maybe have that beer after all?”

Clint felt himself start to cross his arms over his chest defensively, but he forced them to stay at his side. Phil wasn’t someone he needed to protect himself from. Much like the first time Clint had seen Phil, a cold nose nudged at his hand. Clint looked down at Lucky, the mutt’s tail thumping happily against the floor and sauce still dotting his muzzle.

“That depends.” Clint let himself smile again, this time straight at Phil. “How do you think that beer will go with pizza?”

The answering smile told him everything he needed to know. He pushed Lucky out of the way and then stepped aside and invited Phil in.

 


End file.
